Work Text:
“Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red."
"Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why
then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie,
a Soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows
it, when none can call our power to account: yet who
would have thought the old man to have had so much
blood in him."
"Here's the smell of the blood still: all the per-
fumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand.
Oh, oh, oh."
//////
11 people trapped. 11 people burning alive.
Alan Deaton was at his veterinary shop when the radio announced the fire. The bag of dog food crashed to the floor, sending pebbles everywhere. He ran as fast as he could, drove with a lead foot. It couldn't help. The house was a twisted wreck. The crews were pulling body after body out. In the distance two children held each other. Beth's children. Laura and Derek. Laura was barely 18 and Derek was still in sophomore year. They were orphans. He watched Derek's young face never change, he was hard as granite and somehow Alan knew that he would remain that way.
He could do nothing for them. Not with words. They needed each other now.
He could, however, protect them. He cleared the tears from his cheeks but not the soot from his pants and drove. He didn't stop until he reached the Argent home. Gerard had gone traveling on the hunt for rogue wolves years ago. The old man was blood thirsty and the Hales were a good family no matter how the old man antagonized them.
He rang the doorbell once, taking in a deep breath. He needed control.
Victoria looked up from her lecture and raised an eyebrow in the direction of a hall. They didn’t expect anyone and the invading way someone demanded opening the door set off alarms in her head. She folded her glasses and walked to the door, the very definition of calm elegance.
“Mr Deaton, the veterinarian. How can I help you at this late hour?” Her smile didn’t match her calculating eyes.
"Mrs. Argent. I need to speak with your husband." His smile was tight enough to snap. "Immediately would be best."
“What about, if I may ask?” She didn’t move an inch, still blocking the doorway. “I don’t think we had problems with any... hurt animals.” Her smiled widened a bit. She knew well that patching up dogs weren’t this man’s only occupation.
"I certainly hope not. But, I can't be sure until I speak with him." The skin around his eyes tightened as they narrowed. "Chris Argent, now, if you please."
“Please, do come in.” Victoria let him go by and shut the door. “He’s working on something. Tea?”
"No, thank you. I don't have the palate for arsenic." Deaton did not usually pick fights, all in all he considered himself a calm man. Mrs. Argent.... the whole Argent clan was a special case.
Victoria scoffed indignantly. “What is that supposed to mean? You honestly think I’d be careless enough to try poisoning someone in my own house?” She shook his head at him. “Chris is in the basement.” She pointed at the small door that lead downstairs.
Alan walked each step downward. He was obviously in a war-room. Mrs. Argent seemed well versed in the art of interrogation set-up. It looked like Chris had found his perfect woman. "Argent. We need to talk. Now."
Chris looked up from the gun he was cleaning and nearly dropped the thing on the table. “What the fuck are you doing here? Victoria let you in?” He glanced at the ceiling and then back at the man, stunned.
"I wasn't going to give her a choice." Alan hit the bottom of the staircase and watched Chris with cold eyes. "What has your family done now?"
“What do you mean?” He asked, coming back to himself, and turned to the devices scattered over the counter.
"I just went to the Hale house. And found only two of them still alive. I will not ask again. What has your family done?"
Chris’ eyes narrowed. “It’s not my fault they shred themselves apart or whatever. Why are you here, Deaton?”
"Because their home is a smoldering ball of ash and 11 people, werewolf and human since you put some weight on the difference between them, died trapped inside. It's on every radio station."
Chris sat on the chair, watching the man for a moment. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t us, whether you want to believe it or not,” his tone got sharper. “So you come here to accuse me of mass murder and you think somehow it’s appropriate?”
"Motive and means. You and your hunter scum have them both. Even if it wasn't you yourself, it was someone. I know who my bet is on. 11 people, at least three-fourths of whom have accelerated healing, do not just die in the average house fire." Deaton narrowed his eyes again. "Stop deflecting."
“Get out.”
"No. There are two orphans out there, Argent. Two terrified children; and do you think they won't know who is responsible? It's not hard to figure out. You think all werewolves are monsters, you think they are all feral. I wouldn't be able to blame them for spreading you and your whole family under the moon's light given what you've just ripped from them."
“Do you even realize what kind of accusation it is?” Chris raised his voice, standing from the stool and walking the table around to face the man. “You’re saying we trapped werewolves with people and burned them all? Eleven of them?!” He yelled.
"Yes." Deaton's voice leveled. He was very used to Chris' temper and it sobered his own. "I only have one suggestion for you. Leave."
Chris growled low in his throat wanting nothing more to hurt the man. “No Argent would ever do such a thing,” he ceded through his teeth. “We’re not some band of primitives looking to blow off steam while hunting monsters. We have rules. The code.” He stepped up and added looking him in the eyes. “You know who could have set the fire? Anyone fucking else. People started noticing something was wrong with the Hales, they were scared...”
"No one is scared but you. The Hale family is well known and well loved. Beth volunteers at the library reading to the children. Peter is a professor at the junior college. Every single one of them are productive, useful members of society." Deaton scoffed right back at Argent. "Where was your sister last night? She's been hanging out around the high school far too often for a woman her age."
Chris deflected but his answer was calm. “I don’t follow her every move. And I still don’t get why do you think you can come here to call us murderers. What are you doing here, Alan?”
"You already are a murderer. Or have you forgotten Jack?"
Chris took a step back as if he was struck in the face. He clenched his fists but it didn’t stop them from trembling at his side after the mention of their mutual friend. “Jack was killed by one of the ”people” you mourn right now.”
"Jack was invading territory he wasn't supposed to be on, alone, at night, during a full moon, because he wanted a glory kill to impress Gerard with. And instead of bringing him to me or the Hales who would have helped him through the change, you chained him up and shot him in the head." Deaton finally growled.
“He attacked me!” Chris yelled in frustration. “He was out of his mind, he didn’t even recognize me! And you think you call tell me I killed him?”
"I can tell you that you didn't even try to save him. He wasn't a monster because he was changed! You took him away from me!" Alan didn't mean to let his temper out. His relationship with Jack had been hushed, something neither of them dared come into the light with. Jack might have been a cousin to the Argents, but he was still a hunter. The moments they shared had been sweet despite all that was against them. Alan could feel tears on his cheeks. "I could have helped him if you had seen past your prejudice."
“You wouldn’t be able to do jackshit! They’re uncontrollable when they’re human, you think you could’ve stopped him from tearing your limbs off your body when he turned?! With what, your magic tricks?” Chris gritted his teeth before voicing the horrible thought born at the back of his mind. “At least now this town is free from them.”
"Ah..." Deaton locked down his emotion just under his skin. It burned within him. "What you mean is you don't care about 11 lives lost. About 11 screaming, begging, innocent people. Not even the children matter. You don't care because they already sinned so deeply by being born different."
“I pity people who were with them. And I care for the lives that the lack of this dangerous species will save.” He said quietly. “Is that all?”
"I want you and your horrible species of hunters out of my town."
“Or what.”
"Or I send the cops sniffling down the trail of your dear sister the psychopath. And when they find arson and multiple counts of murder, I'll count it as one against 11. It doesn't balance but it sure will help me sleep at night." He smiled at Chris.
Chris scoffed. “Still using threats to get what you want, aren’t you?” He ruminated over the words. He couldn’t vouch for Kate, he never knew where she was or what she was up to. A free spirit, his father would say. She already costs them a lot of trouble with covering up her fuck-ups during training and some of the recent escapades. If Alan wasn’t bluffing, they could indeed be in trouble. “I guess it’s a goodbye, witch.”
"It was goodbye a long time ago. This is good riddance, hunter." Deaton didn't bother sticking around. If the Argents weren't on their way out of his life for good in a week he would make a call to the sheriff.
Chris waited until he heard the door close and dropped on the stool, exhausted by the altercation and the mere presence of the man.